Straighten Up And Fly Right
by Aurelia Priscus
Summary: AU. Don Flack is fourteen and in over his head, but at least he's not alone. Spoilers for Tanglewood


_Author's Notes:_ This is an older story that's been more or less Jossed by canon, but it's an AU anyway so I don't much mind. Spoilers for Tanglewood, and the show's notoriously bad with geography so I don't feel so bad about butchering it myself. A thousand thank yous to Hannah and Verte for betaing this for me.

* * *

It was a sticky September evening in 1987 and the leaves were starting to turn. The day felt slow, easy, the city lumbering on as the last languorous days of summer eased to a close. He'd been twelve years old, the sweat prickling at the back of his neck as he waited on the steps outside the bodega and watched a couple of the boys from across the block play in the street. He'd looked up and there stood a man he'd never seen before.

"Hey, you," he'd said. "Yeah, you. You're the kid from the paper, right?"

It was a few days after it'd happened. His mama had always said he'd make the papers one of these days, he was his father's son, but no one ever thought it would be so soon. But when he and Mike Biaggi tried to buy a Coke after school and found Mr. Cordero slumped over the counter, his brains plastered across the wall, there was nothing else to do. Mike had stuffed a handful of chocolate bars into his backpack and ran. But he was a good kid; he waited with the body until the police arrived. Besides, unlike most of his classmates Don Flack wasn't afraid of cops.

They'd printed his picture in the paper the next day and every now and again, somebody from around the neighborhood would stop by and say how sorry they were. What they were sorry about Donny wasn't sure.

There are some people that have faces that stay with you. Even as time corrodes whole years of memories to dust, Flack can still see the man standing there in his cheap suit and scuffed brown shoes. His hair was dark, his smile warm and handsome and there was something soulful in his eyes that seemed to stare right through him. "You're real brave," he'd said. "Staying like that."

Wasn't that something? Skinny, lanky Donny Flack, already tall for his age and still growing. Nobody'd ever called him brave before. He'd straightened up a little on the stoop. "My dad's a cop," he'd said, with a hint of pride.

The man had laughed. "Old man's a cop, huh?" he'd said, with a grin. "Where's he now, son?"

Donny had pointed inside and the man had nodded, reaching into his pocket for his wallet as he kept one cautious eye on the door. "I got a boy your age," he'd said, taking out a five dollar bill and tossing it at Donny's feet. "Kids your age shouldn't have to see stuff like that. Go on, buy yourself an ice cream or something."

He'd leaned over to pick it up when the door crashed open and his father tore outside, yelling at the top of his lungs, and all hell broke loose. Before Donny could react, his father's hands were buried in the front of the man's jacket and he was using words Flack's mother would have smacked him for so much as _thinking_. Marty, the shopkeeper, was standing in the doorway, screaming at them in Spanish. It took a couple of uniformed officers Donny didn't recognize to pry them apart.

The man had wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "No harm done," he'd said with a quick smile, and turned and walked away.

That night, his father made him swear he'd never seen that man again and, shaking with tears, Donny had agreed. They'd never told him why, and it wasn't until years later that he found out Frankie Messer had just been acquitted in the murder of an undercover police officer that very afternoon.

He'd spent the money on a comic book.

* * *

Two years was a long time, Flack thought, leaned back against the wall as Sofia Lopez passed him another cigarette. It was a cool afternoon in October and the dusky clouds hung low and threatening in the sky. Not idealweather for cuttingclass, but the dark eyes and pretty smile of his companion convinced him he was on to something good. "So, what do you want to do?" he said, watching her fumble with the lighter. "I think they got _Batman _playing at the Globe." 

She laughed and slipped her arm around his waist. "So that's it?" she'd said, playfully. "You wanna see a movie, huh?"

"Nah," Flack said, the unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. "Whatever you want to do, I guess."

She surrendered the lighter and tugged at the front of his shirt as he lit the cigarette. "That's good," she said, taking it back. "I got some people I want you to meet."

They headed south. Flack kept his head down almost instinctively, but these days nobody questioned a couple of kids walking the South Bronx during school hours. There was a loud bang in the street — a car backfiring, probably — and he didn't even flinch. These days, it seemed like staying out of other people's business was pretty much the only way to survive.

They rounded a corner to reveal an abandoned lot, overrun with grass and debris. The walls of the adjacent buildings had been spray-painted with varying levels of skill, but he didn't recognize the tags. The carcass of a rusted Mercury Capri had been stripped, overturned and abandoned beneath a tree at the far corner of the alley beyond. There were five older boys—seventeen, maybe eighteen years old—tossing empty beer bottles against the rocks and laughing.

"Hey, Manny!" Sofia yelled, rushing towards them.

One of the boys, Hispanic with greasy black hair and a wire tattoo snaking around the exposed skin of his arm, waved them over. Some of the others were wearing ratty leather jackets as protection from the cold, but it looked like they all had similar tattoos. "Hey, _chiquita_," he said brightly, but his eyes were sharp and predatory. "Who's this guy?"

Flack could feel the others watching him like wolves, slouched against the car and waiting for him to make the next move. _Keep aware of your surroundings,_ he repeated to himself. Three feet to his right, the broken neck of a bottle jutted out of the grass, but if this turned into a fight he didn't have a chance. He'd be a smear on the pavement before he had a chance to blink. By the time Sofia threw her arms around his neck, his heart was pounding so fast he thought he was having a heart attack. "This," she said, "is Donny. I thought we could chill or somethin'."

"You dating my little sister, _gringo_?" the older boy said darkly.

"Uh…" _Smooth, Flack. Real smooth. _He glanced back at the bottle, then at Sofia, watching him expectantly. "Yeah," he said finally, not believing his own audacity. "You got a problem with that?"

That earned him a laugh. "Tough guy, huh?" Manny said, grabbing him by the shoulder and giving him a sharp — if playful — shake. "You think I be letting people disrespect me on my own turf? How old are you, anyway?"

Flack didn't even flinch. "Sixteen," he lied.

"You're a lying sack of shit, Donny." Manny laughed again, releasing his grip on Flack's shoulder. "Okay, but hurt my sister and I break that pretty face of yours, got me?"

Flack didn't say anything, and that seemed to be the right answer because Manny turned and walked back to the rest of the group. One of the boys tossed him another beer. "This ain't no place for kids," Manny said finally. "Take your woman to the zoo or some shit like that."

Sofia opened her mouth to protest, but Manny shook his head. "Go home," he said. Behind him, the others sniggered.

Sofia looked at Flack, like she was demanding to know what he was going to do about the insult, but he didn't have time to react. There was laughter and shouting in the street behind him and suddenly a rock was flying past his ear and Sofia had started screaming. He spunaround as four other boys — this time armed with baseball bats and pipes — started advancing on the lot, sending the others scrambling for weapons hidden in the grass. Flack hit the dirt as another volley of rocks went flying overhead and grabbed the bottle neck, seizing Sofia by the wrist.

"You got a death wish, miserable fucks?" Manny yelled at the advancing boys, suddenly holding a switchblade. He turned to Flack. "Get her outta here _now_."

"Hey, Sonny," one of them shouted. "Grab the girl!"

Flack was tall for his age, sure, but Sonny was huge. He charged towards them like a rhinoceros on steroids, the sharp edge of a knife clutched in his meaty hand. Flack was able to hold him off with a few quite swipes of the bottle neck, until out of nowhere one of the other boys fell onto Sonny with a wrench. "Louie!" Sonny yelled as he went down, and another boy — this one shorter, stocky, with a pock-marked complexion and dark hair — went after their savior. Sofia was still screaming by the time they sought shelter behind the rusted carcass of the car.

"Who are they?" Flack demanded.

"You got to get in there," she said, shaking him. "You got to help them!"

There was a crack behind them and Flack looked up to see a boy — younger than the others, short and scrawny with sandy hair and glasses — watching the bottle neck clutched in Flack's hands, practically immobilized with fear. He looked as terrified as Flack felt.

"I'm s'posed to stop anyone from getting away," he said lamely. "Get going if you're gonna."

Flack nodded and grabbed Sofia, but she fought him every step of the way. "We have to stay," she sobbed, still struggling against his grip. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins. He was holding on too tight and he knew it, but he didn't dare loosen his hold. Fat chance of her making this easy.

There was an ear-splitting bang, followed by two more in quick succession, and he was on the ground. The other boy had tackled them both, just as the first of the bullets started whizzing overhead. The bottle neck had been knocked from his hands. "_Holy fuck_," Flack said and scrambled to his feet.

The boy took one last look at the action behind them, all knives and pipes and gunfire, and grabbed his glasses where they'd fallen on the ground. "Fuck this," he said. "We gotta go. We gotta go _now_."

"Yeah," Flack agreed, and between the two of them they were able to drag Sofia down the path to the comparative safety of the alleyway.

* * *

"_Shut up_," the boy said, looking nervously back the way they came. "Fuck, if they find us back here…" 

Sofia wouldn't stop screaming. She had collapsed on the ground, sobbing, and steadfastly refused to move. They were anchored in place — exposed and vulnerable — and it was only a matter of time before the fight spilled out into the alley and they were seriously fucked. The boy was right, it was a miracle nobody had found them yet. They needed a plan, they needed _something_, but she just kept _crying…_

"_Shut up_," Flack finally snapped. "I need to think. Christ, oh Christ, Sofia, I'm sorry."

She pulled away, still sobbing. "You miserable, fucking _coward_."

"What was I gonna do about it, huh?" Flack exclaimed, throwing up his hands in frustration. "I got no weapons, I got nothin'." He looked over at the boy. "You got a weapon?"

The boy stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Nah," he said, looking back over his shoulder again. There was a shout from one of the windows and he swung around, skittish like a cat, but there was nobody there.

Flack tried to breathe. "We've got to call the police."

"You wanna call the cops?" the boy said, an edge of panic in his voice. "You serious?" He turned to Sofia. "He serious?"

"His dad's a cop," she said, spitting on Flack's shoes.

"Shit," the boy said, stamping his feet. He started pacing back and forth, rubbing his face with his hands. "What you bring a _cop's kid _in this for? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck. This can't be happening. This can't be fucking happening."

"_They're shooting at each other over there_," Flack said, angrily. "You want somebody to get killed?"

"No," Sofia said. She was finally on her feet, but she showed no signs of calming down. Instead, she shoved Flack in the chest, tears stinging her eyes, and grabbed her purse from where it'd fallen on the pavement. "I wanted you to stand your ground and _be a man._"

"I was just trying to _protect you…_"

When he set a protective hand on her shoulder, she flipped him off and pushed it away. "Leave me alone!" She took a swing at him with her bag. He backed away, hands raised defensively, but it didn't do him any good; she was already runninggod knows where, but it was out of the alley and away from the violence. There was little else for him to do but stand there like an idiot and watch her leave.

They watched her disappear around the corner and out of sight. After a moment, the boy looked over at him and grinned. "You know, man, I think she just dumped you."

"_ You think? _" Flack said. They just looked at each other and laughed because this had to be the most absurd scenario they'd ever seen. Flack ran his fingers through his hair and took one last look in the direction of the lot. "We've got to call the cops."

"And get them arrested?" the boy said, shaking his head. "No. No way. You don't rat on the Tanglewood Boys."

"They've got guns," Flack said. "Say somebody gets shot. You want that on your head?"

The boy bit his lip, conflict and indecision obvious in his eyes. Scruffy, scrawny and small; portrait of a hardened criminal, this kid wasn't. "Hey," he said, after a moment. "My brother's in there. I ain't getting him locked up for nothing."

"You're one of these Tanglewood Boys?" Flack asked, warily.

"Nah," the boy shook his head. "Not yet. You a Pendlam Boy?"

Flack shrugged. "If I got a tattoo, my dad would _kill me_. He'd get away with it, too. What's your name?"

"Danny."

"Call me Don."

"Okay, Don," Danny said, as there was a shout followed by swearing somewhere down the path. Looked like time was running out. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

When they first heard the sirens a few blocks away, Danny pulled him into an alleyway and out of sight as the police cars screamed past. It was the strangest feeling in the world, fear and adrenaline coursing through him as he ducked behind a dumpster. His heart was pounding in his chest. Danny was pressed against the wall beside him, breathing heavily. "Maybe we should just stay here," he said. "Until things cool off." 

"Yeah," Flack said, nodding as an ambulance sailed past. He was never much for religion, but he could only pray that it wasn't needed. "What do the, uh, Tanglewood Boys want with those guys anyway?"

"Payback," Danny said, grimly. "The Pendlam Boys, they were selling crack on our turf, or something. Sonny wanted to teach them a lesson. There weren't supposed to be no guns."

"Crack," Flack repeated. "Jesus Christ. Hey, Sonny. That your brother?"

"Nah," Danny said, rubbing his eyes with his hands. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What if he's been arrested? Look, I got to go back. If he gets arrested, they'll crucify him."

Flack watched as Danny craned his neck around the side of the dumpster, watching the traffic. "Cops, fuck," Danny continued. "They think they know everything but they don't."

"Hey," Flack said, and Danny looked back at him, a guilty sort of expression on his face. There was a crack — thunder, not gunfire — in the distance and, past the rooftops, Flack could see the clouds blackening above them. It started to rain.

"No offense," Danny said, as the first of the raindrops tricked down his glasses.

Flack hoisted his leather coat up above his head as protection from the elements. "Listen," he said. "What if the cops do have him, huh? We stroll up and somebody recognizes us, we'll just get ourselves into even more trouble than we already are."

Danny squinted up into the rain. "Then what do we do?"

"There's a movie theatre a few blocks from here," Flack offered. "We're gonna hide, we might as well see _Batman _ while we do it."

Danny laughed, wiping the water from his eyes. "You got this all worked out, don't you? _Superman_, now that's the shit…"

* * *

By the time they were out of the theatre, the sun was sinking behind the buildings to the west and the skies had started to clear. The afternoon crowds spilled out into the street and it was easy for the boys to be swept away in the churning, burbling sea of rapturous conversation. Michael Keaton and Tim Burton had earned their redemption in the hearts and minds of a couple of enthusiastic teenagers, but the euphoria couldn't last. Danny wanted to go back andin the end, Flack had agreed. But this time he'd insisted they keep to the main streets in plain view of anyone that happened to walk past. They had nothing to hide, Flack figured. Even if the police cruisers parked at the side of the road as they approached the lot made Danny nervous. 

One of the cops on the perimeter waved them over. Danny moved to bolt, but Flack grabbed him by the arm. "Hey," Flack said, with a wave.

"You involved in this, kid?" the cop said, watching as Danny tried to reign in his nerves. He was a young guy, mid-twenties, with strong Irish features and warm, friendly eyes. He looked familiar, but Flack couldn't remember the name.

Flack looked at Danny. "He's been with me all afternoon. We just saw a movie. Why, something happen here?"

"Just a fight," the cop said. "Gangs, kids being stupid. Not that you'd know anything about that, would you, Donny?"

"No, sir," Flack said dutifully, and the cop laughed, ruffling Flack's hair.

"Yeah? That's not what I heard," the cop said, grinning. "Word is you didn't show up for school today."

The color drained from Flack's face. He didn't have an answer for that one. "I…"

"Save it for your father, kid." The cop gave him a soft punch in the shoulder. "Hey, if I can get the T.O. to let me go I'll give you a ride home."

Flack nodded dumbly and, apparently satisfied, the cop turned to leave.

"Hey," Danny called after him. "Anybody get hurt?"

"Wouldn't know," the cop called back. "Meatheads had all run before we got here."

The cop's training officer was a large man with big, beefy hands and thick red hair. Flack was sure he'd seen him at his father's poker nights and when the cops started to laugh he could feel his ears burn.

Miserably, he turned to Danny. "You want a ride home? You ask, he'll probably take you."

"Nah," Danny said. "I'll take the train. I show up in a cop car after this, my dad will freak. Look, I'd better go."

"Hey, Moran," the training officer yelled, and the boys turned around to see the cop was fast approaching. "You got the keys?"

"Yeah, yeah," the cop called back. "I got 'em. Come on, kid," he said, gesturing towards one of the cars. "Time to face the music."

When Flack turned back, Danny was already gone. The city seemed to have swallowed him whole, and if it wasn't for the pair of torn ticket stubs in his pockets he could have sworn the boy had disappeared without a trace.

Flack stuffed his hands into his pockets, fidgeting with one of the tickets between his fingers. "Yeah, he said finally. "I'm coming."

Fin.


End file.
